Mo slipped away, leaving Ash alone with Nate. He kept his voice low, speaking through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing, “How could you talk to her like that? You know what Mo means to me. What she’s done for me.”

“You know what Becca means to me. What she’s done for me. You just don’t care.”

Nate didn’t speak. A long, awkward silence lingered. The last thing Ash wanted was to pick a fight. There was a simple solution to all of this. She reached out, taking Nate’s hand in hers, keeping her voice low. “Mo and the others don’t need to know. I won’t say a word. Just say you’ll come to dinner.” She stared at him with pleading eyes. Come with me. Come with me.

He shook free from her. “Damn it, Ash, I said no. Don’t ask me again,” Nate snapped.

This time he was practically shouting. Stunned, Ash took a step back. She turned and saw the others, now eyeing her with suspicion, all their goodwill seeming to vanish.

“Guess you better get back to your family,” she said. She turned and headed down the street, expecting Nate to follow after her, begging her to come back. He didn’t. It wasn’t until Ash rounded the corner that tears began to fall. She glanced down at her arm, a stinging sensation setting in, as if the tattoo were suddenly mocking her. All of Ash’s excitement, that sense of belonging and closeness, vanished. She wasn’t Nate’s and she certainly wasn’t one of them. Not even close.

ASH

An hour later, Ash unlocked the door and slipped inside the elaborate two-story Silver Lake craftsman, lovingly remodeled and filled with handmade furnishings, and hundreds of scented candles. After the grit and grime of Skid Row, being back in this well-lit, perfectly maintained home was a jolt to the system.

Freud, Becca’s raucous pit bull mix, burst into the hall, barking loudly, his tail wagging furiously, demanding to be petted. Ash bent down and hugged Freud tightly, allowing him to lick her face, his tail thumping loudly in excitement. She knew things were bad when even Freud’s presence wasn’t enough to cheer her up. “Come on, buddy. I’ve gotta clean up.”

She hurried up the stairs to her bedroom, and peered into the mirror, her eyes bloodshot, cheeks tearstained. She splashed cold water over her face, grabbed her concealer, and went to work. The last thing she wanted was for Becca to start asking questions She eyed her phone, willing Nate to call or text. All she wanted was for him to say he was sorry and that they’d figure things out together. She wanted to know there was some kind of plan.

Downstairs, Freud began furiously barking, signaling Becca’s arrival. Ash couldn’t think about Nate now. She had to survive this dinner. She caught sight of the tattoo in the mirror, bright red and raw, and quickly reached for her favorite oversized Dodgers hoodie. She would have to explain the tattoo eventually, but she didn’t have the energy. Definitely not tonight.